"Jim Wynorski - They Came From Outer Space" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wynorski Jim)

idiot hands of those studio heads, who feel they must open every can of beans and drop a few buffalo
chips in for creative flavoring.

The fun, with a collection of this sort, is rating stories versus films as you go. Was or wasnтАЩt the film, Dr.
Cyclops, better than the story?

Was or wasnтАЩt The Seventh Victim an improvement, on screen, over the Robert Sheckley story?
Boring, when it wasnтАЩt confusing, was the general verdict.

Was The Fly, as made by Twentieth-Century-Fox, as much fun as George LangelaanтАЩs printed tale? My
daughters have seen the film ten or twelve times, but there is a touch of derision in their sit throughs.
 Finally, of course, we arrive at the earthshaker. Arthur C. ClarkeтАЩs evocative and very small тАЬThe
SentinelтАЭ is one of those incredible bits that grew outsize to become a massive Rorschach test for
late-night cinema fiends to view upside down and sidewise, with beer, mescalin, or both for visual aids.
The story plus the film have probably caused more all-night conversations and destroyed more
quasi-intellectual friendships than any other film/story combination in history.

What you have in this book is, I would guess, a semester course in ideas, fiction writing, and the art of
cinema as it is practiced to birth or abort. Within a few months of publication this volume will probably be
seized upon for such a bug-eyed, beer-guzzling, hot-air course.

It almost seems appropriate here, toward the end of my introduction, to mention the fact that the title of
this book is remarkably close to the first film story that I wrote for Universal back in 1952, lt Came from
Outer Space. The story isnтАЩt included here, but my experience with it might shed a little light on why
fiction is so often excellent and films so often shoddy.

I was called in by Universal in the summer of тАШ52 because, as usual, visions of bright box office danced
in their heads. All they knew was that they wanted Something to arrive from Outer Space: a grisly
monster, a proper fright that the Westmore brothers could have fun with in the makeup department. In
my preliminary talks with the producer and director, I could see we were light years apart. I wanted a
more subtle approach, something with a real idea in it. They saw only the obviousтАФand the vulgar
obvious at that.

I proposed a compromise, and told them that over a two- or three-week period I would write not one
story treatment for them but two. One version, with their mildewed idea, would be for them. The second,
better version would be for me. On the day I handed both treatments in they would have a week to
decide which story to use. If theirs, I would pack up my typewriter, steal some paper clips, and leave
with no hard feelings. If mine, I would stay on and finish a fuller version.

Surprisingly, they bought the concept, though the dice were loaded. If I wished, I could have done a
really bad first script, using their creaking machinery as center. I didnтАЩt. I wrote as good a script as I
could.

Considering it was done with the Westmore family leaning over my shoulder, it was all right.

The second outline-treatment, my own just for me, went faster and better.

I had some good fun with it.

I turned both stories in and waited, sure that they would choose the wrong one and I would head home,